


Mother of The Year

by msmerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adulthood, Children, Domestic Bliss, Drabble, Kids, Multi, Nonsense, Polyamory, Unplanned Pregnancy, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22788985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin
Summary: She loved her kids.She really did love them.But sometimes, just sometimes, Hermione needed a sodding break.or the one in which Hermione's husbands help calm her down.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 37
Kudos: 195





	Mother of The Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LumosLyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/gifts).



> Un-beta'd. probably nonsense. enjoy

She loved her kids.

She loved her kids.

She _really_ did love them.

But sometimes, just sometimes, Hermione needed a sodding break.

“Muuummmy! Scorpius took my dragon!”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione sucked in a ragged breath as she leaned against her kitchen counter. She was supposed to be on bed rest, relaxing before the little girl nestled inside her womb made her grand entrance into this world.

She was thirty-three years old, far from aging out of fertile territory, but she’d honestly assumed that she would be past this point in her life. Past nappies, and dummy’s. Past late nights spent rocking an infant to sleep, and wishing for just a few more minute what that piercing cry woke her up. How utterly wrong that was though—one drunken night with her husband’s celebrating their ten year anniversary and boom, knocked up. Again.

“Mummm!”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want another child. No, when the little charm indicated life the shock she felt wasn’t dread based, but rather—well, this wasn’t exactly her plan. She had just begun her career as the Under Secretary to Minister Kingsley, Scorpius was two years away from Hogwarts, and Dagwood three. Freedom was in sight, but clearly the fates had other plans for her.

Which began with a nice bottle of merlot and ended with her husband’s sharing her only the way they knew how.

“Mummm!!!!”

“Dagwood Frank Longbottom-Malfoy, if you don’t stop shouting at me this instant so help me—” Fire penetrated her words, licking each syllable as she spun to look at the little curly haired boy who stood in the entrance to the kitchen looking every bit like his father. Wide eyes, and perfectly pouty lips. If she wasn’t so bloody mad she would likely smother him in kisses and demand he stop growing up so bloody fast.

“Temper, temper, my dear.” A pale hand ruffled the thick ringlets atop Dagwoods head, and Draco moved into frame just behind their youngest boy. Leaning down he pressed a tender kiss atop his head, tucking him briefly against his lithe body. “Go tell Scorp that he doesn’t give you the dragon back he won’t get biscuits after dinner.”

Dagwood turned, his face pressing into Draco’s middle as thin little arms wormed around his tapered waist for the briefest of hugs before he was darting off, his brother’s name already ringing off his tongue.

Hermione crossed her arms over her bust, finger tapping an irritated rhythm against her bicep as she watched Draco sauntered towards her with that same loose hipped swagger that got her into this mess in the first place. “If you’d heard what was going on you _could_ have handled it.”

“I was out in the garden with Neville, just walked in.” Lifting his hands, he flashed her the hint of dirt under his manicured fingernails as he beelined it for the sink. “Caught the end of it but my statement still stands. You are supposed to be curbing that in favor if resting. Why are you up anyways?”

“I needed water… and to use the loo. Look I know the healer said to rest but you cannot keep me captive in our bedroom just because—“

“Oh but we can.” Neville’s baritone cut across the kitchen, followed shortly by the steady thump of his heavy footfall. Tucked under his arm was a basket of fresh autumn vegetable—bright purple onions, filthy potatoes, multi-coloured carrots and tall stalks of brussel sprouts. All things their boys would fight them on eating, but things she would positively devour in her insatiable state. “And unless you start listening, we just might.”

She snorted as Neville set the basket beside her on the counter. He leaned down to press a chaste kiss against her cheek, the rough brush of his facial hair tickling her skin. His dirt crusted hand found the swell of her stomach, thumbs stroking gingerly over the skin where her belly button once lay. She felt his lips dance across her hairline, ghosting over the tiny curls and the soft press of his thick frame against hers sent a wave of warmth she was trying to ignore.

She was upset.

She was irritated.

She was—helpless.

They always did this! Took her wayward emotions and righted her. Like a ship lost to a malevolent sea, they were her compass and light house, guiding her to safety. Bringing down her temper, reminding her that while yes, she was allowed to be upset, or annoyed, or chuffed, she didn’t need to let those feelings get to her.

Leaning into Neville, her nose pressed against his torso, and even through the thick layer of his plaid button-down she could feel the coarse hair that lay beneath. Inhaling deeply, she let the earthy aroma that always clung to his skin envelope her once more, helping ebb away the annoyance she felt only seconds earlier.

“They’re just a lot right now.” Hermione sighed, tipping her head back so he chin rested firmly against the centre of Neville’s chest.

“They’re boys—they’re supposed to be a lot.” Draco clucked his tongue, wringing a dishtowel between his now clean hands. “Merlin’s pants, Longbottom, were you raised in a bloody shack? You’ve got filth all over her shirt.” Gesturing towards her stomach, which now had a Neville sized handprint in the middle of her stomach, Draco gently dislodged her from his hold, guiding her back until his hips pressed against her lower back and his arms could drape over her shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Neville laughed, caramel coloured eyes sparkling as he leaned back against the counter, watching as Draco attempted to brush the lingering of dirt from her blouse. “That if we were real lucky we just might have to help her undress before dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is utter nonsense, but I needed a little domestic bliss in my life. So here ya have it. Prompt was from a funny little convo I had with LumosLyra--you can blame her, once again, for my crazy.
> 
> until next time. xx


End file.
